His brow furrows as I flick my eyes down to my neglected other breast. The slow crawl of his tongue along his bottom lip makes my sated pussy come alive.
He extends a hand to me. “Shower it is.”
15
Beau
And I still don’t
Even though he’s only forty and would probably fucking wring my neck if he knew, I think of Atticus like an older uncle as much as I do a friend. He may be a man of few words, but when he speaks, it counts. I value his opinion on all things life.
That’s why my chest is puffed as Atticus lifts the dipstick from the engine oil housing under the cracked hood of the car we’re working on this morning.
“Guess what?” I ask, passing him a red rag to clean the stick with. He takes it and cleans the stick before setting it aside.
“What?” he responds without giving me a single look. He studies the back of theWrench Kings Oilbottle and sets it down. Getting on the ground, he flips to his back onto a dolly and slides under the vehicle. Staring at just his legs, I say, “I told Beck.”
“Hand me the catch pan,” Atti says, talking louder, so his words travel through the innards of the vehicle's open hood.
I grab the oil catch pan and crouch, handing it to him. He positions it under the drain plug and wiggles his hand, waiting for a socket wrench. I slap it into his palm, and he uses it to remove the long bolt, releasing the oil to the catch pan. It takes a few minutes, so while we wait, I kick his boot with mine.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard ya,” he gruffs, unimpressed with my news.
“You said I should tell her about my dad, and I did. I told her I did the DNA test and everything. And also, on that front, I’m going to find him. My sperm father.”
“Sperm father sounds fucking creepy.”
I kick his boot again.
“You need accolades for tellin’ your girl shit youshouldtell her?” he drawls, immediately stealing my excitement.
“I thought you’d be happy,” I huff, feeling a little pouty. I may be twenty-six but fuck it, I’m still allowed a good pout time and again.
“Ecstatic. My big heart is full,” Atti deadpans in his monotone drawl. He slides out from under the vehicle, oil coating his fingers. “Might there be something else you should tell her?”
After taking the socket wrench from him, I fold my arms over my chest.
He rolls his eyes. “Uh, you know, the fact that you’re theactualfucking Wrench King.”
Fuck. He meantthat.
I should have told her about my namesake, and I had every intention of telling her the other night but things turned… hot. I shrug. “I’ll tell her. I don’t think it matters too much,” I say, thinking aloud, which I know is foolish around a guy like Atticus. But still, I float my ideas between us, in truth hoping to get a read on what I’m thinking. “She’s self sufficient, money won’t matter.”
Atticus purses his lips and sits up from the dolly. “It ain’t about the money, dipshit.” He feeds his hand through his greasy, dark hair, adding oil to it I’m sure. But Atti never cares about looking like he’s one missed meal away from the homeless shelter. It’s kind of his vibe.
“God, you gotta be the dumbest rich man out there.”
I raise a finger to debate his point. “The dude who knocked up one of the Kardashian sisters sells socks and has a yacht.”
Atticus looks per usual, unimpressed. “Doesn’t that make him smart? If he’s procreating with a millionaire but he’s just a loser selling socks?”
I’m stumped by this, but Atticus smacks me in the shin. “Don’t get sidetracked. You’re dumb because it ain’t about the money. It’s aboutthe truth.”
Fuck. I know he’s right. But things with Beck are just… so good. And things with me have been… so bad for so long.
“If it won’t change anything, why haven’t you told her?”